A dice with death

He ate his toast with butter and Marmite and sipped his tea as he scanned the newspaper that had dropped through the letterbox of his comfortable detached house on the modern estate on the outskirts of the small satellite town. He was looking forward to the day. It was no ordinary day in the office, after work he was to meet his daughter off her train from London where she was a second year student studying for her degree in architecture. He was proud of his daughter and somewhat flattered that she had chosen to follow his own profession.  He was excited and looked forward to catching up on all the news from the big city.  He finished his breakfast, folded the newspaper, picked up his briefcase, kissed his wife on the cheek and left for the ten minute drive to the office.

***

‘Stay on your own turf’ the voice warned. He turned and saw the man across the street look away when he caught his gaze. His heart pumped as he scanned around for the others; there were always others. They never worked alone; he knew this from the Andy McNab book and the books on spying he had read and the detail they contained on the surveillance techniques used by the security forces. He had also gleaned a great deal from television documentaries, docudramas and fiction.  His heart pumped and he began to perspire. He felt as if his chest was being crushed and that at any moment he would pass out.  He had taken the bus to town knowing that he would probably be followed. He had known for some time now that he had become a prime target. He knew the town centre was the safest place to be because they were unlikely to strike in such a public place.

 

Loughborough town centre always seemed busy and on this fine Monday afternoon in Mid September it was little different.  He decided to make his move, he knew it would be risky but he firmly believed that if he let them know they had been uncovered they would discontinue the operation until another time. He saw the man turn and casually look in the shop window and as he did the flow of pedestrians in the car free zone eased. He sprinted across the pavement and shoved the man violently from behind, forcing him to fall against the plate glass window and steady himself with his forearms spread across the pane. The man half turned, a look of horror on his face. He pushed himself off the shop front and spun round, arms across his chest protectively. As he saw the young man in front of him he thought he was being mugged. He pushed out defensively to increase the distance between them, as he did so the young man swung a right hand that connected square on the left side of his jaw, he felt his head explode and lost all sense of his position as he tumbled back against the edge of the doorway hitting his back as he fell to the pavement.

 

‘Stop f*****g following me you IRA b*****d!’ the young man yelled as he turned and walked off merging with the afternoon shoppers.

***

He was worried, very worried indeed. His son had become more and more volatile since moving to live with him. He understood why his ex wife could no longer cope with Tom and was frightened to be in the same house with him. 

 

They had divorced seven years previously and Tom had lived together with his elder and younger sisters with their mother. Things had seemed normal for a split family and he and his ex wife were on reasonably good terms.  Tom had done well at school and had gone on to university in Sheffield to study land management. During his first year though, while living in a rented flat he had got into a fight with the school friend with whom he was sharing. From what he had gleaned from the friend Tom had taken Ecstacy for the first time and it had lead to him hearing things which made him react in a paranoid way.

 

Although he moved out and lodged with another friend he continued to take Ecstacy and to smoke cannabis. Reports reached his parents over the months of Tom getting into fights and being violent. There was some suggestion that he had begun to develop paranoid ideas about being pursued by the IRA. This followed a trip to Ireland with friends when Tom once again provoked a fight with some local men. He only avoided police action after his friends covered up for him. 

***

He sat at his desk, the computer in front of him showed the plans for a major contract the business was tendering for. He had decided to skip lunch as he needed to get the bid finished so that he could leave the office tonight knowing it was complete before he went to the station to meet his daughter.

 

The quiet was broken as the four colleagues he shared the office with arrived back from lunch in a buoyant mood. He tried to concentrate but his thoughts were interrupted as they chewed over a road incident they had witnessed as they left Brown’s Lane restaurant and walked back to the office.

 

“Hey Stu we just saw some idiot jump the lights and plough into a some poor guy” said one

“Must have been on something to have jumped the lights like that, lucky no one was hurt” commented another.

“Trust you lot to have a drama unfold in your lunch break!” he said casually as he tried to keep his focus.

The conversation petered out as they all began to settle back into the tasks they had left before going together to the modern bistro.  He noticed a spelling error in the bid paper and reached out to click on the spell check with his mouse.

***

He had decided to kill himself. What was the purpose of carrying on in this hell. Constantly pursued and hunted. The psychiatrists couldn’t help him all they did was keep him in that awful hospital and make him take the medicines that made him feel like a zombie.

 

His mother didn’t want him anymore and his father was losing patience. He resolved to die and left his room, picking up his jacket from the peg by the front door before firmly shutting the door behind him as he headed towards the town. He had no clear plan.

***

The bid was complete. He had read through it several times and was happy with it. There were no more mistakes that he could immediately detect. He drained the last dregs of the coffee with milk that Martha had brought him half an hour previously. It was dusk and he glanced at his watch, he would need to leave in fifteen minutes to be sure of being at the station when his daughter’s train arrived.  He went to check on the rest of his team feeling that he had largely neglected them for the best part of the day. He saw each one in turn to ask how they were and if they had any concerns or problems they wanted to discuss. When he had finished with the team he cleared his desk, putting a number of papers and a file into his briefcase to work on at home, before announcing with pride that he was off to pick up his daughter and bidding everyone goodnight.

 

He left the office by the back door into the car park where his three month old black Vauxhall Cavalier was parked. He looked nervously at his watch as he pressed the key fob to unlock the car door. He had plenty of time but he always felt the adrenaline rush of anticipation when his daughter returned to the nest and he wanted to be there on the platform to greet her.  

 

It was a short drive from the office to the station but at this time Loughborough would like most towns and cities be full with commuters fighting their way out to return to the suburbs or escape the area altogether. He crawled through the town centre but there was no alternative and he had given himself time. He knew the ebb and flow of traffic intimately and relaxed to the Radio Four news programme PM. He felt reassured listening to the news. It was a habitual thing; he was a creature of habit.

 

He turned left at the traffic lights and into the station car park, pulled into the first available space in the small parking lot, climbed out of the car and locked it. He entered the station and looked at the information monitor in the foyer. The London train was on time. He checked the platform and headed for it to wait. He had twenty minutes until the train was due. He bought the Leicester Mercury and went into the waiting room to pass the time catching up on local and international news.

His route took him down Meadow Lane. At its junction with Burder Street he saw the sign for Loughborough railway station. Instinctively he took the left turn into Burder Street which ran parallel to Ratcliffe Road at whose junction with Nottingham Road he would have turned right towards the centre of the town. He walked the short distance to the station and in his mind decided that he would kill himself by jumping in front of a train. It would be a certain death, quick and decisive. He watched for the followers. The road was quite busy with traffic heading home for the evening but there were relatively few pedestrians. He stopped at a corner shop and looked to see if anyone took evasive action. No one was heading his way so he carried on wondering if they had him under surveillance. He arrived at the station entrance and walked onto the northbound platform. It was busy with commuters. He looked round carefully but could not identify the IRA watchers. No one looked away when he caught their stare. He looked at the information monitor suspended from the gantry above the platform. The London train was due in about ten minutes. He resolved to kill himself under the London train. He walked up the platform heading past the waiting room. He saw the man with the Mercury and caught him glimpse in his direction before burying his head back into the sports section. The look of guilt on the man’s face was unbelievable. He must be one of them. He walked further up the platform and stood with his back against the wall so that he could clearly view the waiting room door. He looked at the large black clock suspended over the platform that must have been about fifty years old, five minutes till the London train was due.  He scanned the platform but could not pick out any more watchers. He kept his eye on the waiting room. Two minutes until the London train. The door to the waiting room swung open.

***

He had read the front page and had scanned the other headlines before reading in more detail the sports section. It was a few minutes till his daughter’s train and he felt the excitement well up from the pit of his stomach. The old woman with the shopping trolley stood up, smoothed down her ageing smock dress and half shoved her trolley through the waiting room door. He stood and held the door for her. She bustled through with a begrudging thank you and he followed her out onto the platform. He moved toward the platform edge so that he could see clearly those disembarking from the train when it arrived and so he too could be seen. The platform was quite busy and suddenly there was a small throng of commuters eagerly anticipating the arrival of the London train. Most were about to board it heading further up the line while others were there to meet someone arriving. They pushed nearer to the yellow line set back from the platform edge as if someone might deprive them of the opportunity to board. He peered down the track. The train was now two minutes overdue. He thought of the meal that he would take with his wife and daughter and decided he would open a bottle of red wine with it as it was a special occasion.

***

He saw the old woman semi barge her way out of the waiting room with her shopping trolley like a mini battering ram. The IRA b*****d had stood up to help her and had then followed her out onto the platform and taken a position to await the train; probably to throw him off the scent by looking indifferent. A small crowd filtered out onto the platform and began to form along the warning line painted into the concrete apron. He decided that he needed to get closer so that he could jump while the train was still in motion. He looked at his watcher and felt a rising rage.

 

The crowd suddenly stiffened in anticipation, their heads craning to see the approach to the platform. He saw the train round the bend still some way away so he moved quickly so that he was behind the watcher who by now had strayed over the line. The crowd was less dense here as. He prepared himself. He could hear the train and feel the rumble of its approach, it was now only yards from the platform; he lunged pushing heavily with both hands into the back of the watcher. He should take him with him, they should both die. The momentum propelled the man far out over the track where he fell heavily across the far rail. Tom landed in a heap in the middle of the track and rolled onto his stomach as the train breaks screeching thundered over him. There were screams and cries from the crowd. He looked towards the spot where his victim had lain and to his anger saw that he had been missed by the train and lay dazed beside the track. The man began to sit up but was clutching his shoulder and was obviously in some pain. His anger boiled over that his plan had been thwarted. He scrambled out from beneath the now stationary train and began hitting out at the watcher in fury. The man ducked away and defended himself from the blows with his forearm. Suddenly there were two men beside him on the rails, dragging him off by the arms. They were too strong for him. Hands were helping the watcher who was supporting his right arm and shoulder as they helped him back up onto the platform.

***

He saw the train approaching and stepped eagerly forward. They would be home in ten minutes; he would uncork the wine while his wife finished off the meal they would all take together. The train was approaching the platform. Suddenly he was lunging forward out of control, arms and legs flailing. The impact on his back knocked the wind out of him and lifted him clear of the platform, propelling him forwards uncontrollably. He crashed onto the rails landing on his left shoulder, unable to break his fall. He saw the train lumbering steadily towards him and managed instinctively to half roll and half throw himself over the far rail with eleven inches to spare.  He lay still in shocked disbelief. The back of his head hurt and his left shoulder was an explosion of pain. He looked towards the train the wheels of which were six inches from his head. He saw the other man laying on the track beneath the train. He looked away fearing he would have to gaze upon a mutilated body. But instinctively he looked back again and noticed the man had crawled forward on his stomach and was glaring at him. He felt exposed and isolated but relieved to have been missed by the towering steel monster that was London train. The other man was dragging himself up and was fixing him with a menacing stare that made his blood run cold. He tried to sit up but the pain in his shoulder made him wince and stay prone. The man was almost out from under the train and was scrabbling in his direction with a fixed stare. He suddenly felt fearful and his adrenaline kicked in. He sat up clutching his shoulder tightly. As he did the man exploded towards him swinging his fists wildly. He tried to protect himself with his good arm and managed to ward off all but a couple of bows that struck the right side of his head. Suddenly two men appeared on the tracks and took hold of his assailant, dragging him off and away from him. He tried in his confusion to get to his feet but his legs were too weak. He felt very disorientated and confused. Hands were reaching for him, gently but firmly pulling him to his feet. Three more bystanders had jumped onto the track and were now lifting him up with the help of others onto the platform until he was perched in a sitting position on the side of the apron. He felt dizzy. In a panic he remembered his daughter and feared for her life. Those surrounding him spoke reassuring words to him, tried to calm him. They helped him to his feet and the few yards to the waiting room.

 

He still had no idea why it had happened but he knew he had been literally a few inches from serious injury or death. He shivered uncontrollably. 

 

 

Reviews

[Claire Twinn]

Your writing is so good it's almost painful to read! I found this chapter particularly scary as I'm currently spending regular time waiting for my daughter's visits at train stations.

[John Alexander McFadyen]

I can't believe you are ploughing through this at a pace. Thank you Claire.